mE and My life

Mar 18, 2016

Now the chicken yard happened to be just outside the big
picture window in the Farmer’s best parlor. When guest would come the farmer
and his wife would proudly point out their lovely White Leghorns, the
shimmering Buff Orphingtons, the Beautiful Dappled Bard Rock, and the fluffy
white Silkies.

The chickens thought this was just
fine and fluffed, and preened, and dashed to take their places strutting
proudly before the window; daintily scratching about for grubs and pieces of
grass, whenever they saw company coming.

Then one day, just as she was about
to catch a bright green grasshopper, the littlest Silky looked in the window
and gasped in horror! The farmer’s wife had a beautiful black chicken by the
feet and was shaking it all over the furniture!

Quickly she called to the other to
see for their own eyes. “Something must be done!” clucked the distressed little
Silky.

“I’ll say!” cackled the dappled
Bard Rock. “In all my life none of us have ever been invited into the house.
And that chicken is being allowed to touch everything!”

It was sure, the farmer’s wife must
have the most beautiful chicken to take into the house and wipe all over her furniture.

No longer satisfied with being
shown off to the guests, the hens took care every morning to preen and fluff
and strut and cluck when the farmer’s wife came to their pen. But all she ever
did was take their eggs and smile, saying softly, “Are you all just the prettiest
bird that ever walked the earth?” But they knew she didn’t mean it, because day
after day, it was the black chicken and not they being swung by its feet all
around the farm house.

“It’s not fare,” declared the
Leghorn one day as she sat waiting to pass an egg. Then she had an idea, one
she could not do alone. So, she called all the other chickens to her, and told
them her idea.

They each quickly agreed, but the
littlest Silky was not so sure, she was after all the one putting herself most
at risk. “Now that gets one of us a chance, but what about the rest?”

“Oh we’ll take turns,” the much
larger hen assured her in an off handed way. She just knew she would be the
next to be chosen and she didn’t want to wait a moment longer than she had to.

The little Silky hushed and they
waited. Soon, as was her afternoon habit, the farmer’s wife entered the parlor
and began to shale the bird about. The golden Orphington flew over the fence
and pecked at the front door. When the farmer’s wife appeared, she gasped that
the bird had escaped her enclosure and swiftly dropped her things and ran after
the now retreating bird. As soon as she had gone the Littlest Silky scurried
into the house.

The hallway inside was so big the
poor little bird might have left a surprise for the farmer’s wife. But
remembering her task she quickly ran around hoping up and down until she found
the feathered mass. She grabbed it by the wing and darted back out to the hen
house with the mass of feathers flopping about behind her.

All the hens gathered around and
stared at the now still figure. “Oh dear,” sighed the largest of the Silkies, “You’ve
killed it, dear.”

They all stood about unsure what to
do next, until the Large White Leghorn, who wasn’t as sure the farmer’s wife
would like her pure white feathers now that she looked closely at the black,
stepped forward and declared, “Well she won’t need these anymore!” and with
that she snatched a hand full of feathers and gave it one great pull.

Just like that the hen house
erupted, each hen grabbing and grasping for all the feathers she could get her
hands on! Until, the dust settled and nothing was left of the bird but one leg
bone. (It was rumored there after that the curious Bardrock had stolen the beak
but she always denied it.)

The next afternoon the farmer’s
wife came into the room just as usual but she went here and there looking all
around. At last, in frustration she stopped and put her hands on her hips. That’s
when her eyes fell on the chicken yard. There, with all the pomp and strutting they
could manage stood every single chicken with black feathers tide all over them! She gawked and then gasped and then ran out her front door to the chicken yard.

The hens, their little hearts all a
flutter, ran up to her, each knowing that her stunning beauty was sure to be
chosen. Imagine their delight when the farmer’s wife grabbed them by their
feet and shook each one with all her might!Imagine her surprise, when
finishing shaking one, she found another black feather duster covered chicken
offer itself up to be shaken. But it didn’t stop till every last chicken had
been shaken and all the lost feathers had been reclaimed, not to mention a
whole lot of new feathers.

That night, in the hen house, it
was decided that being shaken by the feet was perhaps not a job to be sought
after. And if you looked in the big window in the afternoon as the farmer’s
wife dusted, you would see that her duster was no longer just plain black. It
was white, and speckled, and, fluffy, and golden. And she smiled whenever she
used it.

Feb 21, 2016

“Your life can be a powerful offering to God when you fill it with selflessness, humility, and gratitude. But it can be even more than that. Your life can be a powerful legacy that you leave for your own posterity and future generations. When you’re close to God and you spend your life loving and serving Him, you can’t help but leave a legacy of honor in your wake.” (mormon.org, December 30th 2015)

[from] His Grace is Sufficient [by Brad Wilcox]
'A BYU student once came to me and asked if we could talk. I said, “Of course. How can I help you?”She said, “I just don’t get grace.”I responded, “What is it that you don’t understand?”She said, “I know I need to do my best and then Jesus does the rest, but I can’t even do my best.”She continued, “I know that I have to do my part and then Jesus makes up the difference and fills the gap that stands between my part and perfection. But who fills the gap that stands between where I am now and my part?”Finally I said, “Jesus doesn’t make up the difference. Jesus makes all the difference. Grace is not about filling gaps. It is about filling us.”Seeing that she was still confused, I took a piece of paper and drew two dots—one at the top representing God and one at the bottom representing us. I then said, “Go ahead. Draw the line. How much is our part? How much is Christ’s part?”She went right to the center of the page and began to draw a line. Then, considering what we had been speaking about, she went to the bottom of the page and drew a line just above the bottom dot.I said, “Wrong.”She said, “I knew it was higher. I should have just drawn it, because I knew it.”I said, “No. The truth is, there is no line. Jesus filled the whole space. He paid our debt in full. He didn’t pay it all except for a few coins. He paid it all. It is finished.”She said, “Right! Like I don’t have to do anything?”“Oh no,” I said, “you have plenty to do, but it is not to fill that gap. We will all be resurrected. We will all go back to God’s presence. What is left to be determined by our obedience is what kind of body we plan on being resurrected with and how comfortable we plan to be in God’s presence and how long we plan to stay there.”By complying, we are not paying the demands of justice—not even the smallest part. Justice requires immediate perfection or a punishment when we fall short. Because Jesus took that punishment, He can offer us the chance for ultimate perfection and help us reach that goal. He can forgive what justice never could, and He can turn to us now with His own set of requirements.“So what’s the difference?” the girl asked. “Whether our efforts are required by justice or by Jesus, they are still required.”“True,” I said, “but they are required for a different purpose. Fulfilling Christ’s requirements is like paying a mortgage instead of rent or like making deposits in a savings account instead of paying off debt. You still have to hand it over every month, but it is for a totally different reason.”Christ’s arrangement with us is similar to a mom providing music lessons for her child. Because Mom pays the debt in full, she can turn to her child and ask for practice. Does the child’s practice pay the piano teacher? No. Does the child’s practice repay Mom for paying the piano teacher? No. Mom’s joy is found not in getting repaid but in seeing her gift used—seeing her child improve. And so she continues to call for practice, practice, practice.If the child sees Mom’s requirement of practice as being too overbearing, perhaps it is because he doesn’t yet see with mom’s eyes. He doesn’t see how much better his life could be if he would choose to live on a higher plane. In the same way, because Jesus has paid justice, He can now turn to us and say, “Follow me”, “Keep my commandments”. If we see His requirements as being way too much to ask (“Gosh! None of the other Christians have to pay tithing! None of the other Christians have to go on missions, serve in callings, and do temple work!”), maybe it is because we do not yet see through Christ’s eyes. We have not yet comprehended what He is trying to make of us.I have born-again Christian friends who say to me, “You Mormons are trying to earn your way to heaven.”I say, “No, we are not earning heaven. We are learning heaven. We are preparing for it. We are practicing for it.”They ask me, “Have you been saved by grace?”I answer, “Yes. Absolutely, totally, completely, thankfully—yes!”Then I ask them a question that perhaps they have not fully considered: “Have you been changed by grace?” They are so excited about being saved that maybe they are not thinking enough about what comes next. They are so happy the debt is paid that they may not have considered why the debt existed in the first place. Latter-day Saints know not only what Jesus has saved us from but also what He has saved us for. As my friend Omar Canals puts it, “While many Christians view Christ’s suffering as only a huge favor He did for us, Latter-day Saints also recognize it as a huge investment He made in us.”The miracle of the Atonement is not just that we can live after we die but that we can live more abundantly. The miracle of the Atonement is not just that we can be cleansed and consoled but that we can be transformed. Scriptures make it clear that no unclean thing can dwell with God, but, brothers and sisters, no unchanged thing will even want to.I know a young man who just got out of prison—again. When he was a teenager dealing with every bad habit a teenage boy can have, I said to his father, “We need to get him to EFY.”His dad said, “I can’t afford that.”I said, “I can’t afford it either, but you put some in, and I’ll put some in, and then we’ll go to my mom, because she is a real softy.”We finally got the kid to EFY, but how long do you think he lasted? Not even a day.By the end of the first day he called his mother and said, “Get me out of here!”Heaven will not be heaven for those who have not chosen to be heavenly. The older I get, and the more I understand this wonderful plan of redemption, the more I realize that in the final judgment it will not be the unrepentant sinner begging Jesus, “Let me stay.” No, he will probably be saying, “Get me out of here!” Knowing Christ’s character, I believe that if anyone is going to be begging on that occasion, it would probably be Jesus begging the unrepentant sinner, “Please, choose to stay. Please, use my Atonement—not just to be cleansed but to be changed so that you want to stay.”The miracle of the Atonement is not just that we can go home but that—miraculously—we can feel at home there. Too many are giving up on the Church because they are tired of constantly feeling like they are falling short. They have tried in the past, but they always feel like they are just not good enough. They don’t understand grace. There are young women who know they are daughters of a Heavenly Father who loves them, and they love Him. Then they graduate from high school, and the values they memorized are put to the test. They slip up. They let things go too far, and suddenly they think it is all over. These young women don’t understand grace. There are young men who grow up their whole lives singing, “I hope they call me on a mission,” and then they do actually grow a foot or two and flake out completely. They get their Eagles, graduate from high school, and go away to college. Then suddenly they mess up. They say, “I’ll never do it again,” and then they do it. They say, “I’ll never do it again,” and then they do it. They say, “This is stupid. I will never do it again.” And then they do it. The guilt is almost unbearable. They don’t dare talk to a bishop. Instead, they hide. They say, “I can’t do this Mormon thing. I’ve tried, and the expectations are just way too high.” So they quit. These young men don’t understand grace.I know returned missionaries who come home and slip back into bad habits they thought were over. They break promises made before God, angels, and witnesses, and they are convinced there is no hope for them now. Seriously? These young people have spent entire missions teaching people about Jesus Christ and His Atonement, and now they think there is no hope for them? These returned missionaries don’t understand grace.I know young married couples who find out after the sealing ceremony is over that marriage requires adjustments. The pressures of life mount, and stress starts taking its toll. Mistakes are made. Walls go up. And pretty soon these husbands and wives are talking with divorce lawyers rather than each other. These couples don’t understand grace.Christ is not waiting at the finish line; He is with us every step of the way.Elder Bruce C. Hafen has written, “The Savior’s gift of grace to us is not necessarily limited in time to ‘after’ all we can do. We may receive his grace before, during and after the time when we expend our own efforts” So grace is not a booster engine that kicks in once our fuel supply is exhausted. Rather, it is our constant energy source. It is not the light at the end of the tunnel but the light that moves us through the tunnel.The first company of Saints entered the Salt Lake Valley on July 24, 1847. Their journey was difficult and challenging; still, they sang: Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;But with joy wend your way.Though hard to you this journey may appear,Grace shall be as your day.We have all sung it hundreds of times, but have we stopped to consider what it means? “Grace shall be as your day”: grace shall be like a day. As dark as night may become, we can always count on the sun coming up. As dark as our trials, sins, and mistakes may appear, we can always have confidence in the grace of Jesus Christ. Do we earn a sunrise? No. Do we have to be worthy of a chance to begin again? No. We just have to accept these blessings and take advantage of them. Faithful pioneers knew they were not alone. The task ahead of them was never as great as the power behind them.The Book of Mormon teaches us to rely solely on “the merits, and mercy, an d grace of the Holy Messiah” (2 Nephi 2:8). As we do, we do not discover—as some Christians believe—that Christ requires nothing of us. Rather, we discover the reason He requires so much and the strength to do all He asks. Grace is not the absence of God’s high expectations. Grace is the presence of God’s power.'
It is far overdue that we stop making excuses for ourselves. We cannot keep pushing aside inconvenient aspects of commandments, tailoring the words of Christ and his prophets to fit our own agenda, whether in big ways or small, and expect salvation anyway. God did not give to Moses the Ten Suggestions, He gave Commandments. In like manner, if we profess to love and obey our prophet, we must follow all of their words. Matthew 7:21- Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Too often we might tweak the Word of Wisdom to fit our own tastes and work it into
our chosen lifestyle; we quietly brush under the rug the divinely imposed commandment to consecrate each Sunday as a holy day to God, justifying that if we are spending time with families, the nature of the activity does not matter. Youth, especially, have blurred the line between dating and courting until the line has all but vanished, and the youth think that it’s permissible so long as they don’t break the law of chastity. Very often, brothers and sisters, we cannot see all the reasons for certain requirements and commandments, even when we think we do, so we only blind and numb ourselves spiritually when we look for loopholes.

Titus 1:16 - They profess that they know God; but in works they deny [him], being abominable, and disobedient……

*W.o.W, Sabbath Day observance, studying scriptures, Family Home Evening*
Dating
“The Lord has made us attractive one to another for a great purpose. But this very attraction becomes as a powder keg unless it is kept under control. It is beautiful when handled in the right way. It is deadly if it gets out of hand. It is for this reason that the Church counsels against early dating. This rule is not designed to hurt you in any way. It is designed to help you, and it will do so if you will observe it.”
–Gordon B. Hinckley

Let’s see if you can correctly answer the following question: At what age are Latter-day Saint youth allowed to date? Of course, you probably immediately said, “16,” showing you’ve paid attention to For the Strength of Youth, as well as your parents and Church leaders.
OK, then, how about this one: At what age are you allowed to have a boyfriend or girlfriend? You may be thinking, “Um, 16. Didn’t I just answer that?” Well, if that was your answer, then, even though you aced the first question, you missed the second one. Just because you can date when you turn 16 doesn’t mean you should immediately start looking for a steady boyfriend or girlfriend.

As President Boyd K. Packer, has said to youth, “Avoid steady dating. Steady dating is courtship, and surely the beginning of courtship ought to be delayed until you have emerged from your teens”
You should avoid becoming exclusive as teenagers, because an exclusive relationship requires a high level of commitment from both partners, and you’re not in a position to make that kind of commitment as teens—neither emotionally, physically, nor in terms of your future plans.
For decades, prophets have preached that youth who are in no position to marry should not pair off exclusively. For instance, President Hinckley (1910–2008) said,
“When you are young, do not get involved in steady dating. When you reach an age where you think of marriage, then is the time to become so involved. But you boys who are in high school don’t need this, and neither do the girls”
1 John 2:4 - He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar,and the truth is not in him.

Brothers and sisters, I know that each of us is capable of living more highly than we are now. As we become more like the Father, we will come to experience a life which is more rich with joy and fulfillment. To each of us, so much is given, and of course, a great deal is required—but we can do it! To conclude I paraphrase parts of Hebrews Chapter 13, for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me. Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

Aug 3, 2015

There is a place they say, up in those mountains, where
trolls hide from the sunlight and dance to the tune of the wind through the
trees on dark moonless nights. They hide from us, fearful creatures, so they
say. But reason they have and that reason, so I’ve heard, is betrayal. The
story goes something like this.

Once long ago, the trolls lived in the valleys, free from
toil or strife. The played in the sunshine and laughed in the moonlight and
never really thought about it. Their’s was a life of freedom and carefree play
that is known only to a child.

The day
the fairies came, they gathered in awe of the creatures’ tall slim beauty,
greatly contrasted by their own short, plum beauty, a beauty not of feature but
of spirit. This too was contrasted by the cold ugliness of the fairy soul. They
were outcasts. The elves cast them off when their cold nature caused a rift so
great that the fairies even sought to supplant the King of the Elves. They say
they were once one and the same, but that is another story, one that even they
can’t remember any more.

But,
the Trolls knew none of this. In their innocence they could only see the
beauty, for cruelty had no place in their history. The Trolls brought them
gifts with the exuberance of shear adoration. But the Fairies cast them out and
trampled upon their insignificant gifts. Devastated the Trolls sat down and
cried. Had this been all, perhaps we would still see the Trolls and the Fairies
among us still today, but alas, the simple Trolls could not understand and
tried again.

This
time he Fairies wanted them to understand that Trolls and their gifts were far
beyond their notice or time. They simply left. But one stayed behind. She was
more beautiful and cold than all the rest. Perfectly shaped in body, perfectly
mangled in heart. She could not bare that such folly as to approach the Fairies
with ugliness go unpunished. She stood before the creatures and smiled. They
brightened at the acknowledgement.

“My
little ones, are you not tired?”

The
Trolls nodded, for all their tears had wearied them greatly. She opened her
arms and gathered them together. She cringed within herself at their touch but
she continued to caress and comfort them. Finally she stood and held up a
bottle. It sparkled almost as bright as she in the moonlight, for it was night.

“Drink
this,” she said, “and you will never be tired again. But don’t any one drink
too much. It must be shared with all. I must go now,” She said, handing the
bottle to the chief. “I will be back by say light. Wait here for me.”

As soon
as she vanished, the trusting souls began, each sipping in their turn. It took
them all night because the bottle emptied slowly and the clan of Trolls was
large.

Sunlight
began to creep over the mountain peaks and the Trolls waited. The rays began to
caress the landscape and the Trolls clapped their hands and grinned in anticipation.
Then the sunbeam touched the first Troll. With a scream, he turned to stone.
One by one, two by two, whole groups cried out in pain and hardened before the
cry could die in their throats. The few that were sitting within the mouth of a
cave, turned and ran deeper within. There they hid waiting for the Fairy to
return. Perhaps she would know how to undo this evil. They were so distraught that
they did not notice how tired they were.

Then
they heard a great cracking. They rushed forward to see what was happening now.
There stood the beautiful Fairy with arm up raised holding a great mallet, a
pile of broken stone behind her and a beloved brother turned stone in front.
One began to cry out as understanding washed over him, and he could not hold
his tongue. But then, a light flashed starting him into silence.

“What
is this before me?” a deep soothing voice asked. A man dressed in simple cloth
stood before her, holding out his hand to stop the blow. “I have been sent
because King Tantaroon, King of all the Fiery Realms, heard one of His children
cry out, and here I find you, oh daughter of the Fairies. You would not, after
so soon having lost your home, turn again to destruction?”

The
Fairy held herself aloof, “Who are you that I should answer your quiries? I AM
a daughter of the Fairies. And you are not but dross.”

Then
the man, not young , nor old, reached out his hand in one last warning, “Be it
understood, should you still fail to return to your Father, you shall be
rendered powerless.”

The
woman sneered, her face turning ugly to even the Trolls watching silently. Then
she lifted her arm and came down, crushing the stone figure into an innumerable
pieces. Then she threw back her head a laughed. I still have the power to do
whatever I wish, and so I will. The Fairy turned and walked toward the next
stone figure, but with each step she grew shorter, and shorter. Noticing the change
she panicked and called out. Another Fairy appeared but he too was growing
smaller and smaller.

This is
why the Fairies are so small today. They have no power, but their pride leads
them to lie and tell stories of all kinds of powers great and small, from
changing the seasons and granting wishes too collecting teeth of small children
and leaving a gift.

The
Trolls sat with their eyes wide trying to take in all that they were seeing.
The man turned to them, his beauty was in his face. They could not tell if he
was handsome or not, simply that he was full of love and wisdom.

“Stay
there my friends,” he called. “The Fairy’s actions will not be undone, but you
will learn to be wise. The sun will turn you to stone, but your hearts will
continue to beat and when the darkness falls, you will be freed.”

It was
as he said. And so you see, that is why the Trolls hide and the Fairies too.
The Trolls to protect themselves, the Fairies to protect their pride.

Dec 22, 2014

The twelve stars trembled
in their place ready to break into dance at any moment. The time was short and
Therman was growing restless as he waited. Two hours late already. At this
rate, they would never finish the ceremony in time and the twelve princesses
would be lost for another two hundred years.

Therman rubbed his large, hairy hands together at the thought of the
beautiful glistening figures made human form. If he could have all twelve his
harem would not only be unmatched in all the world, but he would rule all
twelve kingdoms. No one could stop him, no one but an incompetent delivery boy.

The
trembling grew more violent till the stars almost seemed to sway in the night
sky. Suddenly there was a rustling in the under growth. Therman jumped caught
off guard as he was lost in his thoughts. “Who goes there!” he shouted brandishing the ancient sword of his
fathers. A cloaked figure bowed and stepped forth out of the brambles.

“The
stars shine brightly for such a hot night,” the stranger said bowing low. The
voice and shape was not as young as Therman was expecting, they had said
delivery boy, not youth, but Therman was not concerned with their ideas of the
aging process.

“The
stars shine brightly when the time is ripe for dancing,” Therman rattled it off
as quickly as he could. “Now give me the package!”

Therman
glanced at the stars. The first start had begun its journey. One by one they
would move till each had taken a new place, like musical chairs when the last
star had taken the first’s place the dance would have ended and the time would
have passed. Therman threw the coin purse at the boy, “Take it! Just give me
the package!” he screamed.

The
package flew through the night and into his trembling, outstretched hands. He
jerked the draw string open and out burst the bright light of a rainbow of
colors. Squatting down he dumped the bag of stones on the ground. Each
glimmered its own color, the color of the banners of the twelve kingdoms.
Therman whispered the incantation quickly as he placed each stone in order, “

Within the realms of gods have danced

Princess of power untold

Come once again to the earth
below

And claim all that has been
foretold

One to call, the other Grand Jewel

One to serve, the other to Rule

Power for he who owns each heart

Given to him who took not part

And so shall serve he who calls

Back to earth as has been
foretold

The Princesses of beauty to
behold

Now is the time “

Therman paused breathless and looked up at the stars above.
They no longer moved but trembled in their places. “Now, COME HOME!” The stones
light began to grow. But all Therman saw was the twelve stars suddenly leave
their dance and gather to the center of the circle. As each reached the middle
the light grew ten fold till the whole sky was a blaze. Therman covered his
face where he crouched and let out a small scream.

“Rise
slave,” came a soft sweet voice.

Therman
slowly lowered his arm and there before him was a vision he could not have
fathomed. All twelve stood around him, each behind her stone. They were glowing
the same color as the stones before them. They didn’t look real their faces
were so beautiful and their gowns and crowns were so intricate and marvelous.
Tears came to Therman’s eyes as he just stared at them, forgetting all his
plans in the shear amazement of their presence.

Therman
gave a little squeak as he felt the earth grow further from him. A ripple went
though the light and Therman realized he was being laughed at. Some of the
Princesses covered their mouths in fained shock but each set of eyes sparkled
with myrth as Therman spun mid air before them.

“Where
is the other?” The soft voice asked.

“No
other my pet,” Therman stuttered. Among his own he was looked down on. He knew
it would be hard for these apparitions to realize they were his, but he had
fulfilled the prophesy and his they were. “I called you. I’m your ruler.”

Therman
sputtered, “I am your ruler! I called you! Put me down!” His face was growing
red and his bread kept falling in his face causing him to violently paw it out
of the way. Looked very like a dog who has just been sprayed by a skunk as he
turned and flopped in the air. “Let me down I say! I AM the ruler!”

“No.”
The Princess stepped away from the floating figure calling back over her
shoulder, “Don’t have too much sport with him ladies. We need him.”

Therman’s
protests were drowned out as the laughter of almost a dozen playful Princesses
converged on him. The brightest Princess walked to the edge of the clearing and
called, “I know you are there. The spell would only work if two were present.
Come out and let us see the ruler of our hearts and kingdoms.”

The
light trembled. The Princesses fell silent looking around at each other in
confusion. Then it happened again, the lights emanating from them trembled and
dimmed. The small pink Princess groaned and doubled over. “I don’t want to go
back,” she cried pitifully.

The brightest
Princess ran over and wrapped her arms around the young girl. “Don’t go back.
Stay here. We will all stay here this time.” She lifted her head and looked
around. Then her face changed from worry to pale horror. “What are you doing?!”

The
cloaked figure that had brought the stones stood holding the light pink stone
in his hand. The stones had all been arranged back in their order, only one was
out of place and he held it in his hand, fingering it thoughtfully.

“Please, my Love” the bright white Princess stretched out her hand in pleading, “think of what we offer you. Have
pitty on us. Don’t send us back. We will do anything you want, everything you
desire!”

The
youth pulled back his cloak and there stood a very old man.

The Princesses all gasped.

His face grew hard and he said, “I
desire to retain the peace that has ruled this land since you twelve were
banished. I miss you, but…” the pink stone was swiftly dropped into place and
the little pink princess dimmed and vanished.

Therman
dropped a few inches and flipped so he could see the night sky. A single star
had reappeared. A wail went up among the dimming figures. Therman dropped again
and another star appeared. Then more swiftly, inch by foot he dropped till he
almost touched the ground.

“How
many times will you banish us? How many times will you turn your back on your
heart?”

The old
man stepped from the circle of stones and took the Princess’s hand, his eyes
shimmered and his whole body shook. He held the hand as if he would hold her
back and then he dropped the hand and embraced the woman, “I love you!” he
cried just before she vanished, leaving his arms empty and his head bowed.

Therman
fell the last few inches and scrambled to his feet. The stones no longer
glowed. The stars were still in the night sky. Therman pulled his clothes back
into their place, the laughter and cruelty of the beautiful face lingering
before his eyes.

Yet the
old man stood, his head bowed, his shoulders stooped. For a moment Therman
thought the man had fallen asleep or perhaps had fallen under a spell.

“I’m
sorry my good man.” Came a weak, tired voice, “I have used you badly.”

Therman
dusted himself off. “How do you mean? How’d you come here?”

“I am
the keeper of the stones.” The old man lift his head, his eyes were weary and
dull. “When someone comes to steal them, I know there will be an attempt to
call my girls. So, I come to see them, to hear their laughter, to glory in
their beauty, and to morn at their cruelty.” The man took a great heaving sigh
and stooped down to gather the stones, saying as he did so, “And I come to make
sure they do not stay. Had you succeeded my friend, you would have been their
toy and the little thirteen year old thief you sent would rule the twelve
kingdom and my girl’s hearts, though they be cold and hard hearts.”

Therman
looked at his hands and watched as the man slipped the last stone back into the
pouch. Then, as the man headed back to
the woods, Therman called out, “Wait! How did they know you?”

Jan 24, 2014

Prolog At the New UN 2075 Early April “Stan, the excitement in the crowd is palpable. " Eian Branshaw looked behind him waving his hand to show the camera the luxurious crowd behind him. A thick crowd pushed closer to a red velvet walk lined with ropes holding the people back. Various Vehicles pulled forward letting out men and women in official robes indicating their nation or sect. Some looked into the crowd waving large charismatic smiles. Others stared ahead with solemn faces. "What we’re seeing here is the culmination of years of work and diplomacy. Those gathered behind me are among the lucky few; diplomats, former students, and of course we few reporters that get to witness this historic event.” The shot zoomed out to reveal another reporter in a news room “Eian, I speak for myself and everyone else here, that you are a very envied man right now. We would all love to be there.” “I feel incredibly lucky to have this opportunity.” “What would you say is the over-all sentiment there?” “Well, like I said, excitement. We all know what this means for the world. It means the progress and the peace that we have spent generations touting and searching for is finally upon us. Here we are at the brink of worldwide collapse and we have hope.” “Now, I just saw Serge Perot behind you. He doesn't look happy at all." " No, I can imagine not. President Perot has been extremely vocal in his opposition of this move by the UN." " He and others as well. We all know there are those out there who oppose this action by the UN to choose one school as the official worldwide educational institution.” “I don’t think those people have been properly informed of what’s really taught. A lot of false rumors out there, Ried. A lot of false consperisy theories .” “You went to an Alia school, didn’t you?” “Yes, I was in the first class.” “What would you say was the most important thing you learned there? Why does this one school promise so much peace that others have tried and failed to find?” “It’s the importance it puts on the child from the very beginning. From birth to marriage the child is carefully nurtured to become a responsible, productive citizen. After a full generation we can say for sure that divorce rates are nonexistent, violence in the graduates is unheard of, production as citizens is astronomical. And the best part is their children, the next generation, my child, is getting an even better position because they have parents that can support the system. It builds on its self. It’s amazing, really.” “I’ve seen your IQ scores. I really envy you the start you got.” “Through this legislation the whole world will be able to have this advantage. Hang on,” Branshaw's hand covered his right ear focusing on the sound in his left ear where the bone mic had been installed, “I’ve just been informed that the Alia’s have arrived. There they are!" His hand shot up pointing enthusiastically at the old black car that glided up to the end of the carpet, led and followed by much more sleek black vehicles.The camera quickly zoomed in as the car doors opened and large men with black suits stepped out scanning the crowd and buildings. Branshaw's voice returned to normal as he continued, "They are in the old first model fusion buggy. The security around them is unbelievable. Here they come…” The camera focused past the newscaster and onto a tall intelligent looking couple emerging from the car wearing long purple gowns and smiling happily at the cheering crowd. “Eian, what are they wearing?” “Stan those are ceremonial robes from the… Wait, she’s fallen!" The camera zoomed in until the entire screen is filled with a crumple of purple quickly added to as a second figure collapses next to it. The crowd begins to scream and duck. The camera bounces violently as people push past in an effort to flee. As it focuses back on the couple they are surrounded by the men in black suits until only a limp hand is visible. “What’s happening there?” the anchorman asked. “There’s blood! Why? Where’s it coming from?” The young reporter disappeared for a moment only to return with bright red eyes and a slightly hysterical voice. “Someone has shot the Alia's, I repeat, the Alia’s have been shot.” Charlotte Tiller heard no more, saw no more. She felt the wait of baby Hope resting on her hip but her mind was numb. A vision of crumpled up purple swirled before her eyes.

Mar 3, 2013

Once there was a doggy.
The Doggies name was Victoria. Victoria was a magical ballerina girl. You see she is a person but she likes to spend her life as a puppy dog. She loves to dance on her four paws.
She got so good at it she started to wear dance shoes on all four paws. But then when she wanted she turned into a Pony. She was so good at it she wore dance shoes on all four hooves.
And whenever she wanted to she turned into a kitten. Almost everywhere people would find her at the door saying, "Meow meow, let me in!" And they would say "AH! Talking kitty!
" And her parents had never found such a magical girl that she had adopted.
And one day she found a magical pony so she turned into a pony so they could fly, but that's another story.
The End

About Me

I'm a born and raised Texan.
Sweet and kind but fun and silly.
I believe that in every heart lie the seeds of the greatest greatness and the lowest failure and it is up to us to choose which seeds we will nourish and thus harvest.